


The stars and I will guard you tonight.

by Halourryween



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Peter Pan Fusion, Louis Tomlinson as Peter Pan, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halourryween/pseuds/Halourryween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Harry is a little boy, that has enough of the people around him, and where Louis is Peter Pan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The stars and I will guard you tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are a lot of Peter Pan AU's, but I just really love them.
> 
> About the characters: None of these characters are real, exept for Harry and Louis. But notice, that I do not know them in real life, this isn't based on personal expierences. It is all fiction.

“Today, we are going to do some...-” He hears the teacher talking in the background. 'Tonight I'm going to tell mom and dad. Should I? Yes, ofcourse Harry, Mother doesn't like it when you have secrets. And she will always get to know the secrets, remember?' He shakes his head lightly and tries to concentrate. But it's hard to do that when your mind is filled with thoughts. He starts to draw some little flowers in his notbook. After drawing some rosies he draws a little rainbow with a happy face, but he abruptly stops when he notices the teacher stopped talking. “Mr. Styles, are you paying attention or do you want to come back after school? I think your parents will love it to hear you have detention for the fifth time in two weeks.” As fast as he can Harry closes his notebook. He heard people giggling behind his back and the eyes prodding in his body. His hands began to sweat. “No- No Miss. I'm sorry. I'll pay attention.” Harry could see the disbelief in her eyes. Then she nods slowly whereby the little grey bun on the top of her hair wobbeles a bit. When people start to whisper Miss. Burts turns around, asking for silence and when it's finally quiet, she talks further about graphs and statistiks. And slowly the  schoolday ends.

 Harry goes, as always, as fast as he can to home. He doesn't like this school, nor the people in there. When Harry comes home he wants to walk straight to his own room upstairs, but his mother is already in the hallway and stops him. “What are you going to do Harold? Not sitting alone in your room again I hope? You've been there for months now. Come and join me and your father for a cup of tea.” He sighs – being a bit mad at his Mother for calling him Harold- and kicks his shoes off. Then he stares at the hole in his left sock, frowning. 'Why is his father already home? Normally he works till late at the bank.' “He is early home today, his boss gave him promotion,” his mother reacts when she sees Harry is confused. “Don't pull such a face, boy. Your father is a good man who earns a lot of money. He can do a lot you can't,” and with that she walked into the kitchen.

Harry drops his bag on the floor, next to his too old pair of sneakers, with two little holes in them. Everytime it rains, he has to tape them so his socks wont become wet. And everytime the boys and girls at school will laugh behind his back. “Hmm, if he's that good, he could buy me a new pair of shoes,” Harry mutters, and then he walks into the livingroom. “Good afthernoon Father, how is the weather today?” “Fine my boy, sit down.” “Thank you Father.” Harry's sitting on the leather sofa as his Mother comes in with a tray with cups and a can of tea. She fills the cups and pours some milk in it. Harry drinks slowly his tea, while his parents are talking about the promotion. The voices disappear in the distance. Meanwhile he stares at the painting on the wall in front of him, right behind his Fathers chair.

It was a painting of his Mother and Father smiling happy, lights twinkling in their eyes. On the shoulders of his Father is sitting a little boy; It was Harry himself, two years old. He already had a bunch of brown curly hair, and a pair of big green eyes that were always looking at everything that seemed fascinating; If you did stare in them, you could see the whole world in one picture, beautiful and calm. Well, that's what people had said, according to his Grandmother. Harry realises that he looks like his Mother; The same curly deepshiny hair, pink thin lips and short eyelashes. He only has his Father's eyes. Harry turns his head to look at his Mother, sitting with elegance next to him on the couch. She is really pretty, he had never seen that. He always only saw that women that did hate everything; the women who seemed to regret getting a child; who sometimes seemed like she was made of marble. Harry suddenly interrups them. “Eh, Mother, Father, I have to tell something...-” He had to tell them about it.

* * *

 

“Why? Why do they have to be like this? Why can't they accept me like I am?” Harry was sitting on the balcony, wrapped in the blanket he had taken off the bed. His cheeks where wet from the tears that slowly ran down his face. His eyes were red and a bit swollen. He stared at the skyline, with small houses, cute steamy chimneys and tall ferosiously looking trees standing into too little gardens. It was fuzzy outside, little droplets appearing on people's coats and jackets. The wind in Harrys long brown hair was calming him and he took deep breath, once, twice, his lungs slowly filling with air. He tried to empty his mind by writing on the paper he had taken. He wrote word after word, but when he did reread them they didn't seem like anything to him.

After a while Harry stood up and walked into the room. Everywhere are books; On his bed, on his nightstand, on his writing desk, on the floor, on the dusty old chair where in his Mother used to tell him stories. It was in his younger ages, every night, before he fell asleep in her lap. But times change... Mother hates it now when Harry reads a lot of books, she complains that he has to go outside to play soccer with the neighbors, to make friends. So that, for once, family Styles will get invited for a little party, or a conference. But he doesn't like it to go outside, playing with the children that do laugh about him. He rather reads a book about undiscovered lands, deep oceans, and lost love. He has tried to write about love lots of time, but he never comes further then page one. After that he always rips the paper in pieces and throws it away in the wind, watching how the little pieces disappear in the distance, like little butterflies. Harry slowly picks up all the books and sorts them on title in the old bookcase he got from his grandfather. In twenty minutes they are all neatly standing in the bookcase. Exept from one book, the book that is always on his nightstand; Neverlanding. A book about a boy that went away from the city, to follow the sun and the moon. He ended up in the most beautiful adventure and lived a lonely but lovely life. Harry still wants that, eventhough everytime he tells his Mother and Father, they laugh about it and say: “Stop dreaming, or we will take all your books away. This is the real world. Go and find a girl you can marry and take her with you to the church every Sunday.” Fuck the girl and the church. He only wants the boy in the book to take Harry with him to Neverland... 'Nobody else needs me here,' his thoughts says.

He curls up on his bed and starts to read. It is the last chapter, and eventhough he already knows what is going to happen -because he did read the book more than ten times- Harry still reads every singe word; Chapter 10, last paragraph: He stared trough the window. He felt how tears were welling up in his eyes. He whiped them away very fast, he didn't want anyone to see him like this, eventhough there was nobody around. The streets where empty and quiet, just how he liked it. But there was something strange. Something he couldn't replace. It did hurt him inside, it made him shiver all over his body. “No, stop... Just leave now. This only hurts you, this is opening almost healed wounds,” he whispered. Then he turns around, walks through the garden and looks for the last time through the window. The old lady, sitting in a rocking chair being busy with knitting. And the old man reading the newspaper while sitting very close to the fireplace where a little fire is burning. “Goodbye mom and dad, for the last time. I will never come back. But I'll always be your boy,” he whispered and then he disappears. Harry closes the book carefully and places it on the nightstand. Then he lays down on his bed for some time, staring at the ceiling while his hand rests on his chest. He feels his heart beating. The wind from outside is slowly cooling down his room and it starts to get cold. Harry gets up from the bed and walks to the balcony. He is about to close the doors, when he gets another thought. Harry walks to his writing desk and starts to write, he scrapes, and writes again untill he has the perfect sentence. He tears the paper in twice and makes a little airplane from the paper with the text. Then he walks back to the balcony and drops the paper airplane. He sees how the little airplane slowly fals down and whirls again. Until it is gone. Then he takes off his clothes and turns off the light. And after a few minutes he falls asleep.

_“Dear Boy, I will leave my balconydoor open tonight. Please come and take me with you... Yours sincerely, H x.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, English isn't my first language, so I try my best. I hope I will keep this up to date if you guys like it.


End file.
